The Be Yourself List. My ticket to the other side.
“But I guess you’re not interested in that.” Eitan crosses his arms and steps back, looking out the window.
I squeeze my shirt hem. Now that I’m not under the microscope of Eitan’s gaze, I can admit that everything he said was true. I’m floundering. Being in the wedding party won’t do me any good if I can’t carry a social interaction. Which, I’ll admit, has not been my strong suit lately. I just need to reacclimate. Get some practice. Establish my footing again.
Which, I acknowledge, Eitan is offering to me on a silver platter.
“Okay,” I groan. He turns around, shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m listening.”
“I had a feeling you’d change your mind.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He breezes past me. “I’ve picked up a few things you should do every day to feel okay.”
“Hold up.” I flex my palm at him. “What are your qualifications?”
“Qualifications?”
“You can’t just get a coaching job without sharing your qualifications.”
He’s quiet for a minute. “Remember when I said I have colon cancer in my family?”
I nod, my stomach dropping at the memory of how dismissive I was to him last night.
“My dad died of colon cancer four years ago.”
I close my eyes. “I’m an idiot.”
“At least you’re a cute idiot.”
Something sparkles down my spine at the revelation that Eitan thinks I’m cute.
“So…” He’s blushing, like he also didn’t expect that to come out of his mouth. “As I was saying.”
I raise my eyebrows.
He starts to count off on his fingers: “One, take a shower every day.”
That feels targeted. “I wasn’t planning on havingcompany?—”
“Even if you’re not seeing anyone.” He holds up a second finger. “Two, make your bed, first thing.”
We both look at my bed, piled with haphazard covers, a corner of my fitted sheet riding up one edge.
“Point taken,” I concede.
“Every day,” he finishes.
“I got it!”
He holds up a third finger. “Go outside. Talk to someone random. The person ringing up your groceries. An old person crossing the street. Interact with the world.”
My jaw ticks. “Let me guess,” I say dryly, “every day?”
He nods.
“How is that helpful?” I screech. “I could read that in any two-bit self-help book about grief!”
